


#snowpocalypse

by chasingriver



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Eames awaits his first big snowstorm in D.C., he's not sure what to make of Arthur's tales of mass hysteria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#snowpocalypse

They never watched the local television news. In a town like D.C., where everything was all politics, all day, every day, the less time you spent watching television, the happier you were.

That — combined with the fact that they’d just flown back from a job in Istanbul and were jet-lagged all to hell — was how they missed the news about the storm.

Until it started trending on social media under #snowpocalypse.

Eames laughed. “Did you see this? Talk about overreacting.”

“Oh, fuck. We need to go out. Right now.”

“What?” He typed away for a few seconds. “It says you’re going to get a foot or two at most. You guys get that all the time, don’t you? I thought snow was no big deal here.”

“Sure, in _Minnesota._ This is D.C., Eames. People freak out if they see a couple flakes. The Beltway turns into a parking lot.”

“From what I’ve seen, it’s a parking lot already.”

“Yeah, well, even worse than usual. I’ve seen people abandon their cars. _Literally_ abandon.” He dashed into the kitchen, scanning the fridge. “Shit, we’re out of almost everything because of the trip.”

“So we’ll have cheese on toast for a few days,” he said with a shrug, already back to reading about the latest archaeological finds from the London Underground dig.

“Yeah? Well, we’re almost out of bread.”

“Cereal, then.”

“— and milk.”

“Well, no worries love, I’ll just pop down to the shop and get some before the snow starts.”

“This isn’t London. You can’t just walk down to the corner and grab a pint of milk.” In the cookie-cutter suburbs of Northern Virginia, everything was ‘driving distance,’ whether you liked it or not.

“Do we have enough left for tea?”

Arthur pulled the jug out of the fridge and swished the remaining inch of milk back and forth. “As long as you don’t drink much tea. And if we really get a foot? We’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

“Damn it.” Because that _was_ irritating, and Arthur’s doom-and-gloom outlook was starting to make him nervous. He got up to find his coat, but Arthur bolted past him on the way to their bedroom.

“I have an idea. Wait here.”

“It won’t take me long,” Eames said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” came the muffled reply from their closet. Arthur emerged from their bedroom, moments later, with the PASIV. “You need training.”

Eames gaped at him. “You’ve lost your mind, darling. I think I can handle a quick run to the shops.”

He shoved the metal suitcase onto the table. “Ten minutes under should be enough time to teach you the basics. If I’m hurt, you’ll need them.”

“If you’re _what_? What are you talking about?”

“Hurt. Incapacitated. People are vicious. You don’t think they’re going to give up their bread and toilet paper willingly, do you? And when was the last time you drove on snow?”

Eames glanced out the window. “It’s perfectly dry out there.”

“By the time you get out of the grocery store, that road could be covered in white death.”

If it weren’t for the crazed expression in Arthur’s eyes, he’d have thought it was sarcasm. “Darling —”

“You haven’t seen it — as soon as it freezes, they forget how to drive. It’s carnage. Black ice is even worse, because they don’t expect it, and they’ll gouge your eyes out for the last roll of toilet paper —”

“Arthur, calm down!” He did a double take at the last part. “Wait, what? Who runs out of toilet paper, anyway? Anyone who doesn’t plan ahead with toilet paper gets what they deserve, with all the spicy food in this country.”

“Ugh, Eames. That’s disgusting.”

“Just being honest. You could get away with it in England. The food’s more predictable.”

Arthur waved his hands in frustration. “Look, stop getting sidetracked. The toilet paper isn’t important. Well, it is, but we have plenty. We have to get you driving on snow.”

Eames protested that it wasn’t much different from regular driving, and that you just had to be more deliberate, but Arthur refused to listen.

When they woke up in the dream, Eames expected mountain roads, or possibly an ice-covered speedway, but what he got was a suburban side street, covered in packed snow. And a long line of cars in front of him. And in front of _them_ , some idiot spinning his wheels at the bottom of a small rise, sending dirty snow into rooster tails behind his car. A few people leaned on their horns.

He could go around the side, but not without the risk of sliding into the ditch. Using the other lane begged for a head-on collision at the top of the rise. He sighed and unbuckled his seat belt.

“Where are you going?” Arthur said from the passenger’s seat, confused.

“To give him a push, obviously.”

He’d already walked by two cars before Arthur caught up, looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

“This isn’t how you drive in the snow.”

“Not sure if you noticed, but there isn’t much driving going on.”

“You were supposed to go around.”

“Haven’t you ever pushed a car before? I’m sure this guy wants to get home.”

Arthur huffed and said sarcastically, “Since when did you become a Good Samaritan? I’ve seen you take out projections with a grenade launcher.”

“There’s a time and a place. This is training for suburbia, remember?”

“Did you hear about the guy who shot the Good Samaritan in the snowstorm?”

“Is this one of the lesser known Bible stories?” Eames said, sarcastically.

“Seriously. Someone stopped to help this guy who’d slid off the road. The dude was drunk, worried he’d call the cops. Shot him. This isn’t like England, Eames. Leave the Good Samaritan shit at home.”

Eames stared, dumbfounded.

“Besides,” he added, “this is Northern Virginia. If you start randomly offering to help my projections, they’ll be all over us. No one does that sort of thing.”

Arthur got rid of the other cars, and they drove around the suburban back streets for a while, practicing turns and skids, the empty dreamscape snow-hushed and eerie around them.

Then he shifted the dream, and they were on the Beltway during a whiteout blizzard, cars inching forward in a grim parade along the snow-packed highway. Headlights struggled to cut through the snow. Inside the cars, smartphone screens illuminated the drivers’ faces, but it wasn’t as if they were going fast enough for it to be dangerous.

Eames looked over at him. “Really? Can’t we just skip to the shop bit? I obviously know how to drive in the snow. And this —” he waved his hand around him, “— isn’t driving. This is sitting.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” A grocery store parking lot materialized around them, slick with black ice. “Hold on to the car when you get out, and shuffle when you walk. Keep your body mass centered over your feet. It looks stupid, but not as stupid as falling on your ass.”

Eames couldn’t hold back a grin. “Voice of experience?”

“Three years in Boston when I was in grade school.”

Once they arrived at the sliding glass door unscathed, Arthur grabbed a shopping cart. “Okay. Rule one: the cart is your friend. It holds stuff, creates personal space, and can be used as a battering ram.”

Eames looked at him nervously. “I’m not sure if you’re joking or not.”

“Did you see _Hot Fuzz?”_

He shook his head.

“We’ll fix that later. Never lose track of your cart, not even for a second; someone could make off with your stuff. Rule two: have a list and don’t get sidetracked. Now is not the time to wander the produce aisles in search of ripe tomatoes.”

“They’re not in season.”

Arthur scowled at him. “Will you focus?”

“I’m trying to be entertaining.”

“Well, don’t be. This is serious.”

“Sorry, you were saying not to get sidetracked?”

“Shit. What number was I on?”

Eames grinned, despite himself. “Three.”

“Right. Three: carry cash. They’ll have a generator if the power goes out, but their credit card system might go down and then you’re screwed.”

He nodded, thoughtful.

“Four: go for the basics first. Bread, milk, and eggs. Make sure to avoid the toilet paper aisle, you’ll just get stuck in a traffic jam.”

“Seriously, what it is about toilet paper?”

“I don’t know. Irrational fear of running out? Basic human need? Some people don’t shop at Costco, I guess.”

“I suppose.”

“Anyway. Once you’ve got the basics, you can hit the secondaries: cereal, peanut butter, protein bars, deli meat. Then the snacks. Don’t forget alcohol and chocolate. Oh, and no frozen food in case the power goes out.”

“Sounds like you’ve done this before. You should teach classes.”

“I’m telling you, Eames, people go insane.”

“You know, if there were two of us, we could split up. You’d grab the milk and I’d fight for some toilet paper, and then we could use it to barter for other things. Or toss a roll down the aisle and grab the last box of cereal while they run after it.”

“Huh. That’s not a bad idea. I’ve never done this with someone else around.” He glanced down at his watch. “Damn, it’s going to kick us up any second, and we didn’t get to practice with people.”

“Christ, I was joking about the toilet paper. It’s not like I plan on pushing little old ladies down in the aisles, love. It’s just food. I mean, when was the last time you even made eggs?”

And then the store dissolved around them.

When Eames came to, he slid the cannula from his wrist and wandered over to the pantry.

“Arthur?”

“C’mon Eames,” he said, gathering up his coat and gloves, “we need to get going.”

“Arthur,” Eames said again, calmly, “do you remember when I moved in, and I told you that you had no imagination when it came to cooking?”

“Yeah. Sort of a dick thing to say, considering you were the one moving in.”

“Well, I did apologize by filling your pantry, if you remember.”

“But we don’t have milk, or bread, or …” he paused, thought hard, and said, “Well, those are the main things.”

“But we do have everything I need to _bake_ you bread. And there’s pasta, and red sauce, and meat in the freezer. And a couple bottles of wine. And I’m sure those eggs in the fridge are fine — we were only gone a week. I can make you plenty of meals that don’t involve protein bars.”

“But the milk —”

“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?”

“You need it for your tea.”

“I may be English, but I can survive for three days without tea. Trust me.”

“Oh.” He looked oddly deflated, lost without his mission. “So we don’t need to go out?”

“Do we have an emergency kit with the standard supplies?”

“Of course.”

“Then there’s just —”

Arthur smiled in realization and finished Eames’ sentence: “— the jumbo box of condoms from Costco and the three extra bottles of lube I’ve got stashed in the bedroom for emergencies?”

Eames beamed. “I think we can leave everyone else to fight over the toilet paper, darling. We have better things to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, the Good Samaritan shooting actually happened. 
> 
> Also, lest anyone take offense, I spent enough of my life in Northern Virginia that I'm allowed to comment on the behavioral madness surrounding snowstorms there. :)
> 
> If you want to find me on tumblr, I'm at [chasingriversong](http://chasingriversong.tumblr.com).


End file.
